


let's talk

by ultilitarianism



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Connor (Detroit: Become Human) Deals With Human Emotions, Connor Deserves Happiness, Connor has trouble with his feelings, Connor thinks Hank doesn't like him back, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hank Anderson & Connor Friendship, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, Pining, Sumo is mentioned like once i'm sorry, not really fluff, slight angst, talking about feelings, this started as a drabble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-26
Updated: 2019-01-26
Packaged: 2019-10-12 22:19:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17476013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ultilitarianism/pseuds/ultilitarianism
Summary: Hank and Connor have a long-needed, and long-awaited, talk.





	let's talk

**Author's Note:**

> I tried to edit this as much as I could considering that this was written late at night, so there may be a few mistakes in grammar. Sorry!

The first thing Hank hears as he gets out of the shower is his phone, a small _ding_ that rises above the sound of dripping water. He towels off himself quickly and dries his matted hair, picking up the device with slightly slippery hands.

 **ConCon** : _Meet me in the kitchen please?_

He feels a smile appear on his face at the message. He hadn’t seen Connor come in from getting groceries, which Hank has mentioned is a terrible way to spend their weekend off, and is surprised to get a message. Considering that Connor prefers to talk to Hank in the flesh, he decides it’s something important.

He steps out of the bathroom barely a minute later, slipping his phone into his pocket and dumping his dirty clothes into the laundry basket. He walks down the corridor, trying not to appear in a rush. Connor is waiting for him, with an awkward arm resting on the kitchen counter and eyes downcast. Hank sucks in a breath, pausing in the threshold before entering. He moves to stand beside Connor, also awkwardly standing beside him.

After a long silence, the older man breaks the silence, resting his hands on the counter behind him. “So, what did you wanna talk about?”

Connor’s LED whirrs a short yellow in the corner of his eye. “It’s,” Hank is sure the android seemed to take a breath before continuing. “Complex.”

“We’re complex people, Con,” he says the words carefully, not wanting to prod too much. “I won’t judge, I swear.”

Connor gives him a small nod and straightens up a little bit, but his eyes flick to the floor. “I’ve been experiencing,” his eyes wander from tile to tile, “sensations, internal sensations, lately.”

Hank is the one to nod. Blue–Red–Yellow–Yellow–Red. “They’ve become,” Connor crosses his arms, blinks hard.

“They’ve grown to be overwhelming,” his eyes raise above the ground and meet Hank’s gaze. “I’ve achi—itching,” he corrects himself on his choice of words but says it like a foreign sound, “to express them.”

Hank takes a small step back, an instinct within him that he can’t quite place, and tries to ignore the noise of his own heartbeat. “It’s okay. To feel urges,” he curses himself internally. “I mean, sensations, like you said.”

He runs a hand through his hair and feels his heart start to slow down the tiniest bit. “Sometimes feelings are overwhelming, I’m not exactly the person you should ask, looking at my mental health record.”

Connor stares at him, taking in the information with furrowed brows. “I’m sorry to waste your time,” he uncrosses his arms. “I have some milks to retrieve.”

Hank opens his mouth to offer his help but Connor turns around abruptly to go to the door.

 

Hank hides away in his room for what feels like hours in his room, at first rethinking his earlier conversation but eventually relaxing and reading his tablet. He is on his third article on some senator in Maryland who had a scandal when the smell of steak drifts in, snapping his attention away from the screen.

When he stumbles into the kitchen, stepping over a sleeping Sumo, his legs slightly sore from sitting on the bed so long, Connor is at the stove, putting seasoning on large chunks of meat on a pan. “Hello, Hank.”

Hank rubs his eyes, trying not to think of their previous interaction. “Con, you don’t have to cook for me so much. How am I ever gonna learn to cook on my own?”  
Connor puts the seasoning down, picking up a utensil, whose name Hank’s mind can’t think of in the moment,and stirring. “I cook for you because I want to.”

Hank sighs and sits backwards in a dining chair, watching Connor cook. Biting his tongue, he tries to start a conversation. “Connor.”

The android stills. “Yes, Hank?” His tone is neutral.

Hank watches the LED swirl on yellow for what feels like hours. “What were you feeling?”

“Nothing,” Connor’s LED is still yellow as he speaks. “Could you do the dishes?”

“Con,” Hank says, staring hard at Connor’s profile. “I told you I wouldn’t judge.”

Connor grips the utensil, Hank has given up on its name at this point, “Dishes. Please.”

The lieutenant pushes the chair and makes a show of approaching the sink. “Connor,” he picks up a plate from lunch earlier. “If I pushed too far, I’m sorry I just-”

“We can talk after dinner,” his voice feels close when Hank can’t see him. He tries not to think about the shiver that traces down his spine. “I promise.”

Hank scrubs the soap on the plate, picking up a cup when the kitchenware is almost completely lathered in white foam. “Okay.”

The dinner is great, and Hank’s stomach is full when Connor opens the liquor cabinent. Hank is surprised when he brandishes a wine bottle. Hank grabs two glasses wordlessly, standing near the counter as Connor pours the wine into one and an alcoholic thirium drink into the other. He puts the bottles out of reach and downs half the glass in one sip.

“Woah, Con,” Hank puts a warning hand on the half-empty glass, holding it down. “Take it easy.”

“None of this is easy, Hank,” Connor’s normally relaxed brown eyes look wild for a moment. “I’m done with it, all of it.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Hank’s hand grips Connor’s wrist frantically, glancing across his face. “Connor, are you okay?”

“No,” Connor looks at him steadily, though his hand vibrates under Hank’s. “And I don’t know what to do.”

“Drinking won’t help you, Con.” Hank moves the glass behind him, distancing it from the android. “I learned that the hard way.”

“It’s the safest way,” Connor still won’t look away, but his eyebrows are scrunched up. “I don’t want a negative outcome.”

Hank stares right back. “Just tell me, it’ll feel better, I promise.” He puts a gentle hand on Connor’s shoulder, which makes him feel tingly waist up.

Connor does three things, none of which Hank can recount until the moment is almost over.

He takes a step closer that puts them beyond any sort of personal space either of them may have had.

He cups Hank’s face with cold gentle hands, the tingly feeling grows stronger.

And Hank is the one to press his lips to Connor’s. He’s surprised to feel Connor kissing back, small movements against his lips that make him swallow down moans crawling up his throat.

Connor reduces any remaining space between them, pressing his chest flush to Hank’s and running his thumbs blindly on Hank’s cheekbones. The gentle hand on the android’s shoulder moves to the small of his back and is joined by another. Connor pulls away to let Hank take a breath, his LED half-red, half-yellow.

“Hank,” Connor whispers. The older man looks at Connor through half-lidded eyes. “What are you doing?”

Hank’s heart is pounding and cohesive words seem completely out of the picture. “I, uhh,” Connor’s eyes look at him with an intimidating intensity. “I’m sorry.”

Connor’s hands don’t move, but grow warm. “No, don’t be.”

Hank nods and buries his head in Connor’s neck. His hands fall to grip at Connor’s waist gently. “What did you want to tell me?”

He feels Connor shift under him slightly. “This,” one of Connor’s hands tangle themselves into Hank’s hair. “I wanted to express my feelings for you. I was going to tell you, I’m not accustomed to containing in feelings like these.”

Hank inhales Connor’s scent, which smells like himself, the rain outside, and something else. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Connor tilts his head.

Hank kisses him again, trying not to think too much as he pulls away to get his wine glass. He takes a sip, sets it down, and pulls Connor close to him. “Okay.”

Connor seems to understand when he takes his drink and follows suit.

**Author's Note:**

> have a good day/night! and thank you for putting up with my terrible writing


End file.
